Perfect Vision
by MorbidbyDefault
Summary: What Sherlock would do if he became blind? Prompt request by Nocturnias. Hope I did it justice!


Right, so my dear Sherlolly, aka Nocturnias, has requested that I fill a prompt she really wants to read. I hope I do it justice my dear, here you are. Enjoy!

Prompt idea: What Sherlock would do if he became blind?

And everyone helps him adjust, and maybe Molly has experience with this and knows braille, and after he gets over being angry he adapts to new ways of deducing and falls in love with her during the process?

Challenge accepted.

Oh, I don't own anything. I'm broke in the ways of Sherlock ownership. Lol.

Enjoy!

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

''SHERLOCK! LOOK OUT!" He was about fifty yards in front of John, when he heard his voice yell frantically after him. Sherlock had turned around, coming face to face with an obliterating fireball. He fell back, his whole body feeling the heat from the explosion above. He had squinted to regain his senses, when he felt a searing pain in his eyes. He could hear shouts around and he vaguely could hear John asking him something, before the pain took its toll, causing him to black out.

OoOo

Three days later:

Sherlock woke to a comfortably dark room, the quiet sound of the machines hooked up to him beeping away. There was an odd sort of breathing noise beside him, and he opened his eyes to see who was there.

Nothing.

He tried again, blinking his eyes furiously to clear away the cobwebs, as it were. On the second attempt, there was still nothing. No light, no people, no shadowed images. Only darkness. With a final try, the detective reached a hand up, rubbing his dry eyelids. He opened his eyes once more, nothing. The reality of the situation, which was quickly being discovered, was concreted as he heard John's voice next to him.

''Oh my God. Go get the nurse, will you? I think he's waking up. Sherlock, Sherlock can you hear me?" His voice was laced thick with worry, and Sherlock could hear quick, quiet footsteps out of the room. He nodded his head a bit, feeling the strain of misuse in his throat. He felt a hand suddenly on his shoulder, and he jumped at not seeing the contact coming.

''Sherlock? It's just me. Are you alright?" John asked. He had noticed his friend's confused nature as he woke up, but he didn't understand. Soon though, Sherlock's tired voice made it all very clear.

''I can't see. John, I- I can't see.''

The door soon opened, and Mrs. Hudson walked in, followed by a young nurse. She walked around the older woman, who quickly made her way to John's side, and began charting things on Sherlock's clipboard.

''How are we feeling, Mr. Holmes? You had us worried for a bit.'' She said in a cheery voice. The man in the bed scowled deeply, and John's head shot up to the nurse. She looked over to him, and the shorter man shook his head. The young woman's mouth dropped open as she saw him motion to his eyes.

''I- I'll just go get the doctor.'' She said nervously, nodding to the two visitors. She soon left the room. Sherlock sighed out, before adjusting in his bed.

''Is that Mrs. Hudson? It smells like bread and sweets in here.'' He called out, head still facing forward. Mrs. Hudson sniffled a bit, before she placed her hand in his. Her frail fingers squeezed his long ones, and he could feel her tremble just a bit. She sniveled a bit more, before she had to excuse herself. John sighed out, and looked to his friend, who was very still. They didn't say anything for a long time, before the detective couldn't stand the unbearable thickness of the silence.

''John! I need to get out of this bed! Will you -'' he was cut off by the door opening, and the doctor stepped into the room. He looked to John, who seemed very distressed, and then to Sherlock, who was currently palming his way to find the edge of the bed.

''Whoa there, Mr. Holmes. You're not ready to go anywhere. Especially for a man in your...condition.'' he said as he approached Sherlock's side.

''And what exactly IS my 'condition', doctor? Please, enlighten me as to why I have suddenly lost my sight, and when I might be getting it back. I have cases to solve. Criminals to catch. Nothing you could possibly begin to understand, so I suggest you do YOUR job and get. Me. Out of here.'' Sherlock hissed into the direction where he heard the doctor's voice coming from. The old doctor sighed, before he nodded, and sat on the edge of the bed. He explained to both Sherlock and John that the explosion and smoke exposure had severely damaged Sherlock's retinas. He had told them the odds, the chances of his sight recovering in full, if at all, were slim. John, at this point, had dropped his head into his hands. He hadn't paid attention to the rest of the conversation the doctor had with a very quiet, unusually quiet, Sherlock.

''We have volunteers who can teach you how to adjust...make things easier. I'll get in touch with one of them today.'' The doctor said after a minute. Sherlock sighed out, before he shrugged.

''Fine, whatever.'' Came the response, as he laid back onto the pillow as the doctor left. The darkness remained, surrounding him completely. He soon drifted to his mind palace, which was perfectly in tact. His eyes may not work, but his memories, his mind's eye, it had perfect vision.

OoOo

''Room 305 you said? Okay, I can go up in a bit. Sure, no problem.'' Molly hung up her mobile, and began straightening her files before she left. She hadn't been called to help with something like this in years, but she was more than glad to. Her mother had been blind since birth, and she grew up surrounded by braille books, as well as combating getting around obstacles in the regular world. So, after she cleaned her desk off, she made her way up to room 305.

OoOo

John had nodded off into sleep when the light knock came on the door. He looked up, first to Sherlock, who was n a deep thinking stance, then to the door, just as it opened.

''Hi, I'm here to help you...'' her voice trailed off as she looked at the an in the hospital bed. Her mouth hung open, her brow furrowed in confusion, and she looked over to John. He had stood at this point, not expecting to see the small pathologist enter the room.

''Molly? What are you doing here?" He asked as she entered. She checked the number on the door, 305. She was in the right place. She then looked to John, as tears began stinging her eyes.

''John, I was phoned to come help a patient who recently lost their sight. Pl...please tell me I have the wrong room.'' She whispered as she looked over to the stoic detective. John shook his head, and Molly gasped in shock. She slowly walked into the room further, brushing past the blond man.

''Sh...Sherlock?" She asked after him quietly. The sound of her voice brought him out of his trance. He sat up a bit, ear perked towards her voice.

''Hey. H-how are you?" She asked, immediately cringing at her choice in words. 'How do you think he is, Molly?' She was fully prepared for him to berate her as well, but he just sat there.

''Molly? What brings you here? I am only blind, not dead. I trust you to know the difference.'' She saw a slight smirk on his face, but it was just at the corner. 'He's trying not to seem like he's upset. He's got to be upset.'

''Don't make jokes, Sherlock.'' She quipped, echoing his words to her on so many occasions. He chuckled a bit, before looking to her again, his eyes seeming lost. She almost cried, not used to the magnetism of those eyes being gone.

''Again, why are you here?" He asked. Molly looked back to John, who seemed as if he were thinking the same thing. Molly sighed, before setting her bag on the floor. She took the chair next to the bed, and pulled it up next to his bed.

''I'm here to...help.'' she said a bit nervously. Sherlock seemed to halt in his every thought. He looked over toward her, and sat up tensely in the bed.

''Help? You. Are here. To help me? How the hell could you possibly help me, Miss Hooper?" Sherlock's voice was harsh, and Molly winced at his tone as he continued.

''Unless you have a new set of eyes in that over sized bag of yours that you always carry, or if you have the intellect, the skills that I possess, to take over for me until my eyesight returns, then I highly doubt you can do anything that would benefit me.'' Sherlock hissed out. Molly looked up to him, then to John, who was struggling for the right words. She quickly stood and ran out, kicking past her bag as she left. It tipped over, spilling the contents onto the floor. John looked down, and let out a deep sigh. He bent over, picking up the books and flashcards of Brailled writing. With a dull thud, Sherlock felt a weight on his lap.

''Can you read braille, Sherlock?" John asked. Sherlock's face contorted into a look of confusion.

''Yea, didn't think so. Apparently Molly can, though. I'm going to go after her.'' John turned and swiftly left the room, leaving Sherlock to himself. His fingers ran over the book on his lap, feeling the raised bumps under his touch. 'That's why she was here. She's the volunteer. Oh, stupid, stupid me.' He thought to himself.

OoOo

''He doesn't want my help, John.'' Molly sniffled as she spoke. John was currently holding out a cup of coffee to her, as she sat on the cold metal slab in her morgue. She too it, and drank a sip. He moved to lean next to her.

''Molly, please. I know he can be a bit rude. He's cranky, and right now I think he's probably just a little scared too. He's never known life without those crazy hawk eyes of his. It's going to take time for him to adjust. I really need help with that. So please, Molly, if not for him, then for my sake, help us?" John pleaded with her, turning on a bit of charm for his final statement. Molly sighed, and nodded her head just a bit.

''Okay.'' She answered quietly. She knew it was going to be a challenge, especially with him, but the world couldn't stand to lose him. Molly was all too knowledgeable on the facts of blindness. She knew one thing that the consulting genius didn't: when one sense is lost, the others become heightened to compensate. Sherlock Holmes may be blind, but she'd be damned if he wasn't still the most brilliant man she knew.

OoOo

As they stepped back into the room, Sherlock sat up. John sighed out, and Molly stepped quietly in behind him.

''Did you find her? Check the cafeteria, she likes to hide away there sometimes.'' Sherlock spoke quickly. John grinned mischievously back to Molly, and signalled for her to be quiet.

''Oh, I found her. She's terribly torn up by your statement. You know, she just wanted to help. You didn't have to be such a git to her.'' John 'berated' his friend, who was now soberly scowling.

''She should understand, this isn't exactly easy for me, you know. I figured of all people, Molly would understand. World's only consulting detective suddenly taken down by his own failed eyesight? Hardly a poetic ending to a wonderful career, don't you think?" Sherlock responded. His nose twitched at a certain scent, but he couldn't quite place it.

''Well, who said you had to quit being a detective? Just because...''

''Did you not hear what I just said? Honestly John, I don't know what's worse, my being blind or you being deaf. I can't see! How do you expect me to go about deducing things when I cannot see the room I stand in?" Sherlock hollered at his friend. The mysterious scent had grown stronger, and Sherlock soon felt a light hand on his arm.

''Because I will help you to focus on using your other senses to deduce things. If...if you'll let me.'' Molly spoke in her usual kind, quiet voice. Sherlock had jumped slightly at her touch, and then was finally able to place the scent. It was her. That's when her words sunk in. He understood her thought process, and he was determined to see if he could still be, well, him, even without his eyes.

'Yes. That sounds most beneficial, Molly. Let's begin, shall we?" Molly looked up to John, who was smiling from ear to ear. She smiled back, before giving a nod of approval.

''Okay, this is letter 'A'.'' She said, placing his hand on the first flash card.

OoOo

Four weeks later:

In the weeks that had followed, Sherlock had made significant process. With John, Mrs. Hudson, and Molly at his side to help him, he quickly made life without sight an experiment. They had released him from the hospital, and he was now adjusting to the spaces of 221B, relearning the walls, halls, and confines of the flat. Not wanting to be away from his new tutor, he invited Molly to come stay with them, to which she gladly accepted. His mind palace had been able to keep his memory fresh on what the furniture outlay was, and as long as it wasn't moved, he could navigate his way around the flat as easily as someone with vision could. He could predict where the other residents would be. Most of the time.

Molly was currently nestled in the corner of the sofa, as she dozed off. She was soon fast asleep, and was unaware of the tall man making his way toward her, or rather, the couch. He sat on it, the middle cushion flattening under his weight. Molly had unconsciously kicked her legs out, so that they were now dangling over his lap. Sherlock stopped, and carefully placed a hand on her smooth legs. He felt no reaction, and had taken to listening carefully to her breathing pattern. 'Deep, even breaths. She's asleep.' That's when an odd notion popped into his head. He could study someone, try to deduce them without the use of his eyes. He had a subject in his lap, literally. So, the detective quickly, quietly, began his research. He listened to her breathing, making sure it was consistently paced. He then took to smelling the air around him. She smelled of vanilla and cherry blossoms, obviously freshly showered. He reached a hand out to touch her hair, confirming his thoughts, as it was still damp. Upon return, his fingers dragged against the smoothness of her cheek. An image sparked in the darkness, a burst of light, as if he were drawing a shape in the night with a match. He traced her cheekbone with his thumb, and the light dragged too. Soon, an eager Sherlock was mapping out her face with gentle, careful strokes. Her sleeping face took form in his mind. Her closed eyes, her nose, her lips. He had been especially surprised to find that they did not feel as thin as they looked. It was at this thought that he stopped. He carefully got up, setting her legs onto the sofa, and retreated into his bedroom.

The feelings raging underneath the surface were too much for him. It felt like absolute calamity, so much torture. 'Is this really how he would have to live now? Having to touch things to see them in his mind? Would his other senses be enough to keep him going?' Sherlock collapsed on his bed, feeling sick with all the questions logging his mind. 'It has to be enough. It has to be. She's worked so hard to help. I won't disappoint her. Not this time.' He thought to himself, gazing on the mental sketch of Molly.

OoOo

Two months later:

His first successful case came as a surprise to him, as well as everyone else. He had been able to deduce the culprit based on the stench of garlic embedded in his clothes.

''You killed the old man because he was going to go back to Italy, taking the family business, and all of its profits, with him. You should have changed clothes after you murdered him in his own kitchen. A trace of garlic is still on your jacket.'' The man, John, and Lestrade were all amazed. Sherlock stood there, cane in hand, and proud of himself. He was back, at least, in some form.

''You should have been there, Molly. You would have been absolutely proud of him.'' John raved on happily clapping Sherlock on the back. She smiled at the two of them, trying to seem genuinely pleased.

''Well, it seems my work is done, then. Congratulations, Sherlock. Really.'' Molly answered. In the months they had spent together, Sherlock had honed in on learning the pathologist's demeanor especially when she spoke. It was much easier, in fact, to tell when she was truly smiling. You can never truly fake a happy tone in voice, especially if you're trying to hide it behind a smile as well.

''John, why don't you go get us some coffee to celebrate?'' Sherlock spoke out of nowhere, directly interrupting John's ramblings. He sighed, before nodding to Molly and leaving the lab. With no seeing person to distract, Molly's face immediately dropped the smile. Sherlock could almost hear her sadness, it confused him.

''Molly, I really must thank you for helping me these past months. You've been very gracious and wonderful with helping John and myself.'' His voice was low and quiet. Molly looked up from her work, and her face let off a small smile.

''It's okay, I'm just glad I could help you get back to...yourself. It was my pleasure.'' She stated, before sighing just a bit. Sherlock heard the breath, knowing it to be one of her sighs of resignation. 'Oh.' He thought. 'She thinks I have no further need for her.' This fact broke him. He wanted to hold her, to comfort her and wipe away those dreadful thoughts.

''Molly..'' he started, when suddenly his head was pounding. His eyes felt as though the were beating out of his skull, and he couldn't think straight. With a groan, he dropped his cane, hands pressing up to his eyes. Molly was soon at his side, her gentle hands grabbing the sides of his face.

''Oh, God. Sherlock? What's wrong? What is it?" She asked the painfully moaning man. His hands turned to fists as he tried pressing the pain away.

''Molly...please...you have to...I need...'' Sherlock's voice cut in and out, his request going unfinished as he soon blacked out. Molly cried out for help, before leaning him against the work station and going to pull the emergency alert bar that sat by the door. She raced back to his unconscious side, trying to get a response.

''Sherlock, Sherlock answer me. Please?!" Tears now rolled down her cheeks. Soon, the room was filled with the responding nurses. One was asking Molly what happened, while the others worked quickly to stabilize him. John was bursting through the door. He watched as they rushed Sherlock down the hall on the gurney, and turned to see a very scared Molly Hooper, crying in their wake.

OoOo

Two days later:

Sherlock's head was pounding with a dull ache. He heard the familiar sounds of monitors beeping and whirring behind him. There was silence, apart from one more sound. Molly was breathing deeply somewhere nearby, he could hear. His hand quickly found how near she was, as it made its way through the locks of her hair. On instinct, he looked down to look at her. He almost scolded himself for attempting something so stupid, until he was met with the most beautiful sight ever. He could see her. Without touching her, he could see her there. Shut eyes, nose, bigger-than-they-look lips, everything. He blinked a few more times, testing to make sure he was, in fact, awake. He gazed down again, to see her cheeks were covered in dried tear tracks. She'd been crying. A happy swell of excitement filled him upon that first deduction.

''Molly! Molly wake up!" Sherlock nudged her, and she slowly opened her eyes.

''Sherlock? Are you okay? I was so worried.'' She asked him, her hand gently settling on his arm. He grinned madly, of all the things he could have seen first, he was so thoroughly pleased that it was her.

''Your hair looks much better parted to the side. I thought I had told you that before.'' He said, looking up at her tight, centered ponytail. Molly is about to say something along the lines of she didn't have time...when his phrase sinks in.

''Hang on. How do you know my hair isn't parted to the side?" Her eyes are wide, she asks with a very anxious expression. He smirks, and his eyes meet hers. She can see it. That electricity flowing from him, the kind that makes her swoon and lose the ability to speak coherently. The smile on her face grows tenfold in no time at all, and she lunges at him, hugging onto his neck tightly.

Sherlock chuckles as he breathes in her scent. She quickly pulls away, positioning herself on the edge of his bed.

''How many fingers am I holding up?" She asks, lifting up a hand. Sherlock grins before answering.

''Four.''

''And now?" She changes the number again.

''Two.'' Sherlock smiles, simply enjoying watching her test him.

''And now?" She holds up a full hand, anxiously waiting his answer.

''You spilled coffee on yourself this morning. Just there, you still have some dried creamer under the nail of your index finger, and the red mark hasn't entirely faded. Oh, and you have all five digits up. Does that answer your question?" Sherlock said in a cocky tone. Molly giggled, and luched forward again. Sherlock was ready for her this time, and held her close. She attempted to pull back a bit, but he held steadfast, not willing to let her go. Molly smiled, and decided to enjoy the embrace while it lasted. She stiffened a bit, however, as his lips grazed her cheek, just by her ear.

''Of all the sights in the world to wake to, you are the most beautiful I've seen yet.'' He whispered into her ear. Molly sighed into his neck, tears streaming down her face. She closed her eyes, simply to involved in his presence to care if he needed space or not.

''Things can return to normal now, I suppose.'' She said quietly into his shoulder. He could hear how conflicted she was with that statement, how much she was glad for him, but there was another emotion underneath her voice. 'Sadness.' It made him sad as well, to think about turning away from the woman who had brought him back to life, twice now.

''Molly Hooper, I have seen more clearly without my sight in the past few months than I ever had before with perfect vision. You have made me into a far better detective than I thought I was already. You've made me a far better man than I could have hoped to ever be. I..I don't want things to go back to normal.'' His voice was low, and he gave her enough room to pull back to meet his gaze.

''Sher...'' she couldn't even get out his full name before his lips were on hers. She melted into him, her own eyes closing slowly. Sherlock refused to miss seeing her. He kept his eyes open, taking in the sight of her, so close to him. The thought that he might have never seen her again, only now made him realize just how important of a loss that would be. She opened her eyes, brown meeting blue, and he vowed to himself in that moment that he would spend the rest of his existance memorizing her. He wanted to see her always, perfect vision or blind.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Well, I hope you liked this, my dear. It was a great challenge, and I hope it was everything you hoped for. If not, um, I'm so sorry. Anyway, tell me what you think! Please :D? 


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